


libidinous, adj.

by eadunne2



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Kissing, Sweet, Vacation, kink club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: “Belle asked for you, but I have to work out what I'm okay with you knowing about all of this.”“About you, you mean. But you know everything about me.”“I'm your boss. It's my job to know.”“Right,” Mike says, suddenly exhausted. “Right. Is that why I'm here, Harvey? As your associate?”The air stills. “No.” He sounds weirdly defensive.“Then what? Because you just hauled me to another state for a weekend.”“I know. I know, just -” Tossing his duffle into the closet he calls, “Nothing's gonna change, ok Rookie? When we get home.”“O...k?” It's surprisingly difficult to be mad at a man who looks that good in a henley.Harvey finishes unpacking first, but when Mike looks up from tossing a few books into the bedside table drawer, his boss is holding the door, watching with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I'll show you around.”





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> This is some smutty fluff. It's the fic equivalent of a summer vacation. Can you tell I'm going back to work soon?? <3

“What the hell?”

They spot the envelope thrown haphazardly across the laptop keyboard the second they enter the office. Donna, out at her desk, shrugs. 

“You see the postmark.”

Ripping the crease open with a letter cutter, Harvey glances over at Mike. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Mike grins. “Not at the moment,” and watches his boss fish a newspaper clipping out of the envelope. Harvey’s going out of town for the long weekend and Mike’s already finished the busy work he was assigned. Seventy two hours of pizza, beer, and Twilight Zone reruns are calling his name.

“Oh hell no,” Harvey grunts at the page, or maybe the handwritten note attached to it. “Donna!”

“Nope.”

“Tell her -”

“Did you not just hear me say no? You call her if it’s so important. I am not getting killed on your behalf.” The sigh he heaves could blow the tupeé off the advertising CEO in the boardroom down the hall. “Harvey Specter, call that woman.”

“Belle is not ‘that woman’, Donna.”

She appears in the doorway of the office. “I know, hon.” They share a moment of soft commiseration and then Donna orders, “ _Now call her._ ” 

Harvey rolls his eyes, but he’s already dialing, and Mike’s pretty sure he’s forgotten about the confused associate on his couch until the line connects and he turns away to look out the window. “Belle.”

The fondness and warmth in his voice surpasses anything Mike has seen or heard from the man in all their years working together, so he sneaks over to the desk to see what the hell has Harvey this vulnerable. 

The clipping is a photo - of Mike and Harvey, to be exact. The Post did a piece on the firm and happened to get a few great shots at the event they covered, a fundraiser thrown by one of Harvey’s clients. It was the perfect venue, glamorous and star-studded, and Mike had a surprisingly good time, teasing Harvey and dancing with Donna and drinking too much. The Post got of dozens great shots of the night but Mike’s favorite was of him and Harvey, loose and red-cheeked from whiskey, cracking up about something or other. It was good promo for the firm - employees getting along so nicely, but Mike likes it for an entirely different reason. Harvey’s looking at him, fond and genuine and open, like he trusts Mike, maybe even enjoys his company. 

Mike definitely does not have that exact newspaper clipping shoved between the pages of one of his sketchbooks. Absolutely not.

There’s something scribbled in the margin, penmanship Mike doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t have time to read it, because his boss notices the snooping, and snatches the clipping away, tossing it into his desk.

“I got your note,” Harvey’s saying. “Yeah. Yes, ma’am. Of course. I understand, but I don’t think -”

The specifics are unclear, but the woman on the other end is giving Harvey a piece of her mind, and it shows. “Yes, ma’am. No. I’ll buy the ticket tonight. Of course.”

He finally turns back to assess Mike as he says good bye to this Belle person with a, “Love you too,” and hangs up. “Pack your bags, Rookie. You’re going to South Carolina.”

\--

“Wh - hello?”

“Are you high?”

“Donna? What are you - no! Of course not. I’m just -” He yawns. “Asleep.” 

“Great. Come downstairs.”

“Huh?”

“Rookie, get your pert little ass down here before I have to stick my stiletto in this man where the sun don’t shine.”

“You’re outside? My apartment? Jesus, Donna, this is not a great neighborhood.” He scrambles for pants and shoes, foregoing the shirt in his haste.

“Did you say something about your shoe in someone's ass?” he huffs, out of breath from hauling down the stairs, as he skids to a stop in front of her. 

“It’s been taken care of.” 

Mike glances around, suspicious. “I’m sure. What are you doing here?” She’s giving him a once over in lieu of answering. “Donna?”

“You’re growing into yourself, Rookie.”

“I - what?” Suddenly self-conscious, he wraps his arms around himself, but she just chuckles kindly, kicking one of the bags at her feet and says, “Here. These are for you.”

“What are they?” 

“Clothes. For your trip.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“I did.” She picks up a few of the bags and hands them over. “You’re going to want to look your best.”

“Why?”

“First of all, because you’re finally eating three square meals a day and actually have a ‘best’ to look -”

“Wow, thanks.”

“And second of all, you’ll see when you get there. This should be enough to last you the weekend, but maybe bring a spare pair of jeans.” 

“I - just - why did - What do I owe you?”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘Thanks.’”

“Oh,” Mike says. “Thanks. ”

“You’re welcome. Have fun on your trip.”

“What are you gonna do, while we’re gone?” he murmurs, collecting the bags from the curb.

“Oh honey. You’re not the only one going on vacation.”

\--

Harvey hadn’t given him a choice - not that Mike would’ve passed on an opportunity to spend time with his favorite person in the world. Even if he has no idea what any of this is about. 

He hadn’t even known Jessica was coming with them until he shows up at the airport and she’s standing next to Harvey at the check-in counter, sipping tea and looking effortlessly professional in what he’s pretty sure are leggings under those leather boots. Mike watches in awe as the two of them tease easily, chuckling about something or other until Harvey waves him over, ahead of the line.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” It’s not all that early, but Harvey’s voice is heaven, rough and warm, making up for the fact that he barely looks in Mike’s direction. The lady behind the counter checks them all in, but when Mike goes to follow his bosses past TSA, he's promptly held back. “Ticket, sir?”

He hands it over, eyes glued to the backs of his bosses, starting after them the second the paper is back in his hand, only to be stopped again. “I’m sorry, that’s priority boarding. You’re this way.”

Of course. So they’re first class, and Mike is halfway through coach, wedged between a sleepy teenager and a man who smells like pretzels.

It’s probably for the best, he thinks as the plane taxis out onto the runway. No conversation to keep, no pleasantries, and besides, he can sketch without fear of anyone noticing, judging, snatching the book away and seeing what else might be inside.

Like it can hear him, the edge of the newspaper clipping sticks out. He tucks it back. For his eyes only. 

It’s a dangerous picture. In the other photo of Harvey from that night Harvey’d been the perfect playboy lawyer - clean-cut and dashing and absolutely two dimensional. That know-it-all smile and perfectly tailored suit makes him easy to want and easy to hate and perfect for packaging away dismissively. But he and Mike laughing… well. Harvey’s too close to human in that one. Someone it’d be easy to love. 

It hasn’t gotten any better over the years, not that Mike thought it would. Every little grain of connection Harvey hands over has Mike investing a hundred times over in a bond with no payout, just more of the same ‘almost’. 

He tucks his earbuds in and flips open to an empty page. Two hours ‘til they land.

The humidity in the new airport has Mike peeling his hoodie off before he’s even out of the gate, leaving him free to stretch. Harvey’s standing near the attendant's desk waiting looking sleepy and rumpled.

Self-consciously, Mike pulls his shirt down from where it’s ridden up over his hips. It’s one of Donna’s gifts, a navy V-neck, only a little tighter than he’d usually wear, paired with black skinny jeans and boots, and to her credit, it’s insanely comfortable. 

“No, please, take your time,” Harvey grunts into his coffee. “We’re not in a hurry or anything.”

“Sorry, princess.” He groans his backpack on and follows a pace behind, too tired to try and make any sense of this, but he doesn't miss Harvey's smile hidden behind another sip. 

\--

The rental is a black Corvette, an older model by the look of it, a more relaxed car than Harvey would ever drive in the city, but still painfully classy. 

“This place is beautiful,” he shouts to the moss covered trees and rolling dunes. 

Harvey grins, hair blowing back from his face in the wind. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, kid.”

Gradually the forest thins, the air cools, and without warning, the ocean rolls into view. 

It’s gorgeous - too much all at once and Mike’s jaw is tight with it, the extremity of a beauty he’s never been privy to before. The water is aquamarine, waves cresting lazily over miles of sand, with the road stretching on alongside the beach, a faithful companion. Grass so verdant it hurts to look at bows to the suggestion of a breeze, tossing the scent of flowers and sea warmed by the sun into the convertible. Mike’s just about ready to weep when the house comes into view, and they pull into the drive.

“What in the ever loving fuck,” he whispers to Harvey’s back as they trudge up the driveway, shocked that Harvey’s carrying his own luggage, blown away by the homey grandeur of the classic, two-story beach house, and -

Mike’s not sure what to do with himself, so he stands at the bottom of the steps with his jaw in the lawn. 

Belle turns out to be the most formidable of women. She takes Harvey’s face in her hands, and her midnight braids laced with grey are piled atop her head so Mike can see the sharpness of her surprisingly green eyes. She looks at Harvey with a fondness built over time, and the man sinks into her embrace, clinging for a moment. She whispers something Mike misses into his ear. It makes Harvey laugh. 

“And you’re the magic boy,” she says, and Mike physically resists the urge to turn around and check there isn't someone behind him she's actually talking to. “The boy who can out-Harvey Harvey.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I'm just Mike.”

She steps to the grass to take his chin in her hands, those bright eyes slipping through his skin and right into the heart of him. “Oh honey. You're not ‘just’ anything.”

“Clearly you haven't talked to my boss.”

“Boy, I raised your boss. He tells my goddamn everything, whether he likes it or not.” Mike laughs in spite of himself, and Belle’s face softens. “And he’s right about you.”

“That I’m a punk kid? Or a show off? Or a pain in the ass?” 

She smiles. “Is that what you think he says?”

Harvey coughs abruptly. “Don’t you think we should invite the kid in? Let him get off his feet?”

“Are you telling me what to do, Harvey Specter?”

“No ma’am. Just trying to be a good host.”

She gives him a look that would slay a lesser man, but Harvey survives. “Fine. I’ll cover your ass, but you better do right by this boy while you’re under my roof.” Harvey salutes, and she steps back to let them in the house. Neither of them are about to disobey. 

“Jessica already here?” Harvey murmurs as he and Mike haul their luggage into the foyer. 

“Half hour ago. But I assume you took the scenic route for our city boy here.” Harvey doesn't give a response, and Belle doesn't seem to need one as she continues up the wide wooden stairs. “I've put you two in the Window Room, so -” 

“Both of us?” Harvey protests. 

Mike's positive he sees a spark in those emerald-grey eyes. 

“Boy, we’ve got people flying in from all over the world. Be grateful I gave you the big room.”

He glances at Mike. “Yes ma’am.”

“And you share that bed, you hear me? No need for anyone to sleep on the floor.”

The joy of watching Harvey being treated like a sullen teenager is so all encompassing that Belle's yelled, “I have a call. Give your pretty boy the tour. Dinner’s at five,” and slammed the door behind them before Mike realizes this means they're sharing a room for the indefinite future. 

“What just happened?” 

Harvey chuckles tiredly, tossing his suitcase on the bed. 

As grand as the house looked from the drive, it’s even more impressive within. Their room is aptly named - most of the external wall is thick paned glass flooding the place with light and a glorious view of the sea. 

The gentle shush of fabric into wooden drawers doesn't make up for Harvey ignoring him, but Mike's been playing this game for long enough that he knows there's no choice but to go with it, so he opens the other three dresser drawers and begins to unpack. He’s hanging his garment bag when Harvey says, “Belle asked for you, but I have to work out what I'm okay with you knowing about all of this.”

“About you, you mean. But you know everything about me.” 

“I'm your boss. It's my job to know.”

“Right,” Mike says, suddenly exhausted. “Right. Is that why I'm here, Harvey? As your associate?”

The air stills. “No.” He sounds weirdly defensive. 

“Then what? Because you just hauled me to another state for a weekend.”

“I know. I know, just -” Tossing his duffle into the closet he calls, “Nothing's gonna change, ok Rookie? When we get home.”

“O...k?” It's surprisingly difficult to be mad at a man who looks that good in a henley. 

Harvey finishes unpacking first, but when Mike looks up from tossing a few books into the bedside table drawer, his boss is holding the door, watching with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I'll show you around.”

Theirs is one of three guest bedrooms on the second floor, not counting Bella’s master bedroom at the end of the hall. The whole place is clean and light, exposed wooden beams across vaulted ceilings creating an ambiance of grandeur and comfort. 

Harvey leads them down the steps to the entryway, then turns around the banister of the staircase. 

“Holy shit,” Mike gasps.

“Yeah.” Harvey sounds proud, even though this isn't his. “Come on.”

They cross the hardwood floors, past the wall of books and records and photos, the overstuffed couch, the beach glass coffee table, to the kitchen. Iron pots and pans hang over the wood topped island, and knives are stuck to a magnetic strip across the opposite wall. There's an absurdly large table, battered and scraped and the chairs gathered around it don’t match at all and Mike loves it, immediately.

He’s so swept up in tracing a curlicue someone carved into the lacquer that he startles when someone says, “Harvey?”

“Jack! How are you?”

What the fuck?

Jack is ridiculous. Jack has blue eyes and a shock of hair that would probably be black if he didn't spend so much time in the sun, and legs for days, and a smile that could, and probably has, killed people. Jack is easily one of the sexiest people Mike's ever clapped eyes on, and he's a connoisseur of beauty in all its forms. 

“Fantastic. It’s been too damn long. Christ, look at you.” He’s holding Harvey at arm’s length, devouring his appearance without an ounce of effort towards disguising the lust in his gaze, and Harvey just grins, practically leaning into it.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself.”

“Has it been a whole year?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, it’s hard to get away.”

“From the big city?” Jack teases. “Don’t forget your roots now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harvey replies mildly. 

“And who’s this?” They both turn their attention to Mike, who’s been watching the exchange with wide eyes. 

“Mike Ross. He’s with me.”

Jack grins, holding out a hand and Mike takes it, managing to say, “Hey. Nice to meet you,” through his freak out. 

“You too,” Jack says. “Real glad you're here.” 

Jack glances to Harvey, and suddenly Mike's hand is free. “Ok, ok man. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“What the...?” Mike mutters at the same time Harvey casually replies, “Thanks. We’re gonna go check out the beach.”

“Awesome. I’ve got a shoot, but I’ll be back tonight. Look forward to chatting with you, Mike.” He flashes another smile, white teeth in a youthfully tanned face and Mike can’t help but return it shyly. He watches broad shoulders beneath a thin tee retreat back through the living room til Harvey tugs his arm. 

“Come on. Before you drool on the hardwood.”

Mike follows him out the back door, across a wide patio, and out onto the boardwalk. “Don't be jealous, old man. I only have eyes for you.” The view is incredible, and he rocks back on his heels, hands in pockets, and watches the waves crash over themselves before turning back to his boss. 

Harvey is staring at him, glorious scenery be damned, though he startles when he realizes he’s been caught. “I’m gonna see if the water’s warm.”

As they move towards the sea, Mike notes he prefers Harvey’s build to Jack’s - a little broader, more muscular. Solid. He’s unsurprised. He wasn’t lying with that last comment. Too bad Harvey’s his boss.

Except here, now, in this beautiful Carolina day, he’s not. Nor is he the curt, aloof, man’s man Mike’s seen on occasion when Harvey doesn’t have to play lawyer - dirty jokes and sarcastic comments and one too many drinks. This alternate universe Harvey kicks off his shoes, cuffs his jeans, and wades right into the water, turning his face up to the sun. “What a fuckin’ beautiful day.” 

Mike gapes. “Where’s my boss?”

“He’s on vacation.”

“Yeah. Why?”

Harvey turns, surprised, like he’d forgotten Mike’s been dragged, not invited, on this adventure. “Belle’s birthday is day after tomorrow. Everyone who worked for her at the beginning tries to come back for it.” 

“So you know her from work?”

Harvey tilts his head from side to side. “Eh. That’s not really -

“Look at you, you motherfucker! How the hell do you get a tan in that ice cube of a state you ditched us for?” 

Harvey turns and laughs. “Lots of sunbathing in the nude.”

The man coming up the beach grins. “My nipples are chilly just thinkin’ about it.”

“Want me to warm ‘em up for you?”

“Watch it, mister,” the woman beside him says.

“Jeannie, we both know I’m no match for you.”

She throws her arms around Harvey. “You might not be as dumb as you look.”

“Looks can be deceptive.”

“Amen.” She pokes his chest. “Who’d’ve thought you'd look so good on your knees?”

“‘Scuse me, what?” Mike chokes.

“Who’s this cutie?” Jeanine asks. “Please let him be your boyfriend. Wait.” She turns to Mike, asking directly. “You’re not a Dom are you?” 

Without thinking, Mike answers with the truth. “Are you kidding? My idea of a good night is a stern Daddy and some padded cuffs.”

Harvey makes a weird noise but she claps her hands in delight. “We are going to have so much fun. I’m Jeanine.”

“Mike,” he offers. “ I’m Harvey’s…” He’s not sure what the resolution to that sentence is, so he just leaves it hanging. Apparently, Harvey doesn’t have anything to add. 

“Got it,” she says with a wink, though what she’s got is lost on Mike. “This is my partner, Trey.”

Trey, like Jake, shakes a bit too long. Harvey clears his throat, and just like Jake, Trey steps away with an apologetic look in Harvey’s direction. “Nice to meet you Mike.”

This should be fucking weird. More questions than answers, weirdly sexy people (Jeannie and Trey look like a Dolce and Gabbana ad), and the person who knows Mike better than anyone in the world might be a complete stranger. But in all of these exchanges, the consensus has been that everyone just assumes he belongs to Harvey. Which is the truest truth and the only answer that matters. 

Trey makes some smartass comment and the three friends fall into deep conversation. Mike watches them for a while, not bothering to mask the affection on his face as Harvey throws his head back to laugh with an abandon Mike hardly ever sees. It becomes too painful quite quickly though, and he escapes back into the house. 

Belle is in the kitchen, and there’s garlic sauteing on the stove. 

“Anything I can do to help?” He tries not to fidget under her assessing gaze.

“There’s lettuce in the crisper. Wash, spin, tear it into that bowl on the counter.”

“Yes ma’am.” He breathes a sigh, thankful for the distraction, and gets to work.

He’s finished ripping lettuce, slicing tomatoes, and is julienning carrots for the salad when she says, “You know your way around a knife.”

“Food service. Lots of random jobs growing up. I mean - thank you.” 

She chuckles. “This isn’t a test, Michael.”

“I know.”

She’s watching him. “How did you meet Harvey?”

A breath startles out of him before can stop it, so he lays the knife on it’s side to think. On the one hand, he knows almost nothing about this woman, and he’s not trying to get Harvey in trouble with his chosen family. On the other hand, the little he does know suggests that lying would be an unforgivable sin. Logic isn’t what makes the decision for him, though. It’s those mint eyes - the softness there, like maybe she’s the kind of person who understands a person’s past is not their future. 

“I spilled weed on his shoes.”

Hyperaware with nervousness as he is, he’d still never have predicted her response - She doubles over laughing. “Oh that is too good. Tell me everything.”

So he does. The truth. The version that Harvey could corroborate plus a few additional details he thinks she might know already, like how Harvey’s mind had ensnared him from that first day, and how being claimed by a man like that is the safest he’s felt in years. Not that he put it quite that poetically, but he’s pretty sure she can read minds, so he might as well start off in good faith.

While the food cooks, she pours them a drink and pulls him into the living room ‘for a real tour’, which is her way of saying - to show off the record collection. Mike isn’t upset in the slightest.

He asks permission, of course, before he takes any down, but she waves a hand absently, searching for something herself, so Mike begins his deep dive, moving framed photos out of the way as he goes. It’s a curation of greats that puts Harvey’s to shame - jazz and blues and rock and folk and music from countries Mike’s only ever read about. He’s closing in on a joyful heart attack when the hiss of a record begins, then exquisite piano.

“Oscar Peterson,” he breathes. “I haven’t heard this album since I was a kid. My gram loved him.” 

Regal with her scotch, and sleeves rolled up, Belle nods. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

The room is warm and she’s so beautiful and the music feels like silk and everything is so fucking lovely the happiness sinks into Mike’s bones. Or maybe that’s the booze. Regardless, he’s hardly shy when he asks, “May I have this dance?”

She sets down the tumbler and holds out a hand without pause. 

It was the right thing to say.

He's not a good dancer, but he's not bad either. Gram, and Mike’s mom before her, had ensured he wouldn't embarrass himself completely, teaching him steps here and there when the opportunity arose, and Belle would make anyone look good. As they glide around the room, she clicks her tongue along with the tsk of the drum set and Mike finds himself humming along to the bass line and it sounds sillier and sillier until the dissolve into laughter, gripping each other’s elbows for support. 

There’s a soft noise beyond the music - Harvey, watching from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Should I take the chicken out?”

“I’ve got it, hon’,” Belle smiles and sweeps past him back into the kitchen, kissing his cheek as she goes. Mike stays behind to lift the needle and slide the vinyl back into its sleeve.

“Didn’t know you could dance,” Harvey says from much closer than Mike was expecting.

“I can’t,” he chuckles. 

“Glad to see Belle hasn’t scared you off.” 

“I like her. She has a better record collection than you.”

Harvey huffs. "Watch it.” They make their way back toward the kitchen and the sound of affectionate voices floats like a symphony down the hall. “You could’ve stayed.”

“In New York?”

“On the beach. Trey and Jean don’t bite.”

“I’m betting they would if you asked nicely,” he jokes in an attempt to circumvent the awkwardness in his chest. “And I know. I just…” Couldn’t bear the wanting. Couldn’t stand to watch you laugh at someone else’s jokes. Couldn’t breathe. “I wanted to let you guys catch up.”

“Well they won’t shut up about you, so…”

He’s about to respond when Belle hollers, “Wash up everyone! Dinner’s on in ten. Trey, Jeannie, table. Harvey, get us some wine from the cellar.” 

“What about Mike?” he protests.

“Michael is our guest, and he made half your dinner.”

“You can cook?” he asks.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Harvey laughs. “Sorry ‘bout ya, kid, but I don’t think you’ll ever stop surprising me.” It makes Mike blush to the tops of his ears, and he heads to the kitchen, hoping for more distractions from his own foolish heart. He sure as shit gets it watching Trey and Jean and Jessica preparing the table, and seeing them greet Jack when he returns from his photo shoot. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Everyone here is so goddamn gorgeous. ‘Scuse my language.”

Belle beams. “Excused. And we work in kink club. What do you expect?”

\--

Dinner is surprisingly easy, considering the fact that Mike’s mind is running circles around this new information. What does she mean? Is Harvey a part of all this? Is Jessica? 

Seeing his bosses plucked from the sterile, uptight environment of New York law and plunked down into beachy, southern charm and potential sex work is a whole mindfuck and a half. Jessica is a different beast here, though not entirely - she's relaxed, smiling like he’s never seen from her before, but she’s still Jessica. Control isn’t something she ceeds. It’s comforting. 

Jack’s pretty, but Mike is more taken with Trey and Jeanine. There's a sharpness, a dark humor to them that Mike feels an affinity with. Jeannie’s comments on the beach take on new meaning in this context, but it’s not something Mike can sit with right now - the idea of Harvey on his knees, or worse, the idea of kneeling for Harvey. The chance of everything you’ve ever wished for is more dangerous than never having dreamt it at all. 

Halfway through the meal, and elbow deep in a discussion with Jeanine about her sister’s art show, Mike realizes Harvey's watching him from across the table. He's got his head tilted to one side, and a wisp of a smile on face, so warm and barely there that Mike makes a point not to look over at him again. 

\--

Mike's exhausted and uncontrollably restless. It's the heat - humidity he’s not used to. It’s certainly not _his boss in a ribbed tank top,_ propped up against the headboard of the _bed they're sharing_. He's itching to sketch any of the million beautiful things they've seen today, but this doesn't seem like the best place, trapped in the stillness of a room that's supposed to be theirs.

“You know,” Harvey finally sighs, looking up over the edge of his book. “The roof is pretty nice.”

“Of course it is,” Mike says, digging through his backpack. 

“If you wanted to do something besides wearing a canyon in the carpet.” 

“Wanna come with?”

Harvey blinks in surprise. “Do you want me to?”

_Always_ , is obviously not an answer he can give, so he settles for something safer. “Are you gonna make fun of my art?”

“Do you suck?”

“No.”

“Of course not, Mike.”

“Don't ‘of course not’ me. Nothing is sacred to you, you heathen.” 

In the soft light, with an even softer voice Harvey chastises, “Not nothing.”

Mike _can't_ with whatever's going on, so he tugs on his sneakers. “We'll come on then.”

To Harvey's credit it is a great roof, nestled next to the attic, though witnessing the great Harvey Specter pushing blanket through a window and then crawling out after it is not something Mike was mentally or emotionally prepared for. 

“Who are you?” he finally manages, but it takes him until Harvey's rolled out the blanket and tossed the pillows inside into a pile behind them to find his voice. 

Harvey rolls his eyes and pats the space next to him. “Pop a squat, Rookie.”

The ocean is as restless as Mike but the air is warm and a gargantuan moon blankets everything in silver. The beauty of it sucks the wind from him and Mike falls to drawing the glistening shoreline without hesitation, too entranced even to be distracted by his life catching flame around the edges. Gentle strokes fill out the curling foam on the sand, then shorter and choppy for the bushes along the planks of the boardwalk. He spends a while carving out the grain of the wood, which is monotonous enough to allow for, “How the fuck did you end up here?”

“We flew first class,” Harvey replies dismissively. 

“You flew first class, and you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Look smartass -”

“Jesus, Harvey if you’re gonna keep stonewalling me just say so and be done with it! I can afford my own ticket back to New York.”

Harvey lets all the air out of his lungs and leans back into the pillows propped against the side of the house. In spite of all the luscious scenery, Mike finds himself turning to watch the way his boss’s shirt rides up a little when he slouches. 

“Ok,” he says softly. “But it won’t be everything. I’m not...shit. Sorry, but I’m not ready for you to know everything.”

Mike’s stomach twinges but he nods. “Fair.” 

Harvey looks at him, too fond and insistent on Mike’s features, and then those dark eyes flick past him to the ocean. “After my mom’s affair tore our family apart, I left town. Left school. I’m not sure why. Something in me just snapped - this realization that everything I’d ever known - my childhood, my family… I destroyed it.”

“It was already broken Harvey.”

He gives a dry laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. Anyway. I hitchhiked down 95. Met a woman on the way. She mentioned Belle - told me I might be a ‘good fit.’ She was right. Belle hired me that day, gave me a place to live...I worked for her until Jessica kicked my ass into law school. ”

“Worked for her...where?”

“The club. We’ll go tomorrow. I was going to try to keep you out of it, but after that comment on the beach…”

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it a lie?”

“What? No. God no.”

“Then you have nothing to be sorry for. You might even enjoy yourself.”

“And then we just go back to work like nothing happened.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No. Of course not.”

Now that, _that_ was a lie.


	2. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry sorry sorry sorry it's been so long I'm trying to make each day a chapter I love you guys i'm not dead. Happy reading. Next chapter we've got some 'splainin' to do, and a party. <3

Mike wakes with a gasp, shooting upright from beneath what feels like a metric ton of blankets. It takes longer than it should to remember where he is and a half naked Harvey to remind him why.

At some point in the night, Mike managed to steal the entire comforter and Harvey’s curled in on himself on the other side of the bed, looking heart wrenchingly young, and a little chilly. Mike slides off the mattress and lifts the blanket so it doesn’t drag, pulling it across Harvey’s body. He’s about to sneak away when Harvey shifts, sleepily, and for the life of him, Mike can’t bear to look away. 

He’d planned on junk food and reruns for his weekend activities, and instead, here he is, staring down at his boss - the man it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pretend he’s not in love with. And how could he not? Everyone loves Harvey - clients, cab drivers, judges, juries, beautiful kinksters from another state, another life. And Mike isn’t even a real associate. It hurts, but it doesn’t stop him from brushing the hair back from Harvey’s forehead before he sneaks out into the quiet of the sleeping house.

The kitchen tile is cold, but the coffee is blessedly easy to find and Mike sets a pot to brew. He’s digging around in the fridge for milk when a rich voice murmurs, “Pour me one, will you?”

“Of course,” he whispers. 

Jessica is yawning in an oversized sweater, bathed in the dandelion light creeping through the windows and Mike has to swallow the things in his chest because he hasn’t found names for them yet. He tries half a dozen times to think of what to say, but they end up sitting in silence for a long moment before she offers, “This is weird for you.”

“Yeah. But good, too. All of it.”

She considers him over her mug before saying, “If you need to find a different job after this, I’d understand.”

“Are you talking about the club?”

“Yes, but here too. You won’t get in trouble for asking to leave, or needing to stop, or safewording. This doesn’t affect your job. When we get home, nothing will change if you don’t want it to. You’re still our go-to guy.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, then, because he can’t not - “So about the club...”

With a knowing smile, she kicks her stockinged feet onto the table. “It’s been Belle’s for as long as I can remember, and I met her way back when I was first getting into the scene. Get that look off your face.”

Mike retrieves his jaw from the floor. “Sorry, I’m trying to imagine you in latex. Sorry. That’s not what I -”

“I prefer leather,” she corrects casually. “But it can’t be all that surprising.”

“Will you fire me if I say that’s hot?” 

She chuckles. “You remind me an awful lot of your boss. How was sharing a bed, by the way?”

“Fine,” he says quickly, and she laughs outright. 

“Tonight will be good for both of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a compliment, by the way. That you remind me of Harvey.”

“I took it as one. And it’s high praise coming from you. You’ve known him a long time.

“True. When I met Harvey Specter he was a skinny smartass with a chip on his shoulder and trust issues a mile wide.”

“So not much has changed,” Mike observes dryly. 

“He’s grown into himself. But yes. Still full of infuriating complexities, and you already knew that.”

Mike isn’t sure what to do with the comment, so he sips his coffee. “Wait. Then how did you two meet? He didn’t work in the mail room.”

“Oh that part’s true.”

“But how -”

“But it wasn’t a backdated package. It was a document from one of Belle’s business partners. Harvey saved her a lot of money, and more importantly, established her reputation. I was in the area at the time, blowing off steam…” Her eyes glint, mischief and knowing. “He’s fun to play with.”

“Oh my god,” Mike says into his mug. So all bets are off - there is no subject too taboo for this early morning floating dream of a chat. “Wait. But you’re a Dom.” 

“I am.”

“Harvey subbed for you.”

“Only for me.” There’s something firm in her voice, possessive, and it makes Mike ask, “Are you in love with him?”

“With Harvey? God no. I do love him. I found him, I trained him, I put him through school. I bankrolled him and hired him and promoted him - he’s my greatest investment. I’m proud of him, of what we’ve done together. He’s mine, but not like you’re his.”

The coffee goes down rough, but the haze of dawn lets him ask, “Does Harvey know I...?”

“No. He’s an idiot.”

“Don’t sugar coat it now.”

“I love the guy, but he is.”

“Does everyone else know?”

She tilts her chair back, contemplating. “Obviously Donna and I do, but I think the rest of the firm chooses to be oblivious. You’re both irritatingly blatant, but it’s easier to make dirty speculations about a senior partner and his boy wonder than it is to acknowledge you two could get married tomorrow and the only thing to change would be you two actually having all that sex you’re pining after.”

“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” Mike says, mostly to himself.

“That can’t possibly be true, but I’m about to make it weirder. Would you like to join me for a joint on the porch?”

“Of weed?”

“No, oregano. Yes, weed. Ridiculous kid.”

“Harvey doesn’t -”

“I’m giving permission. As your boss. If you want to smoke, I’d love the company.”

She retrieves a small silver case and a lighter from her purse, then tugs at the glass door, leaving it open behind her. 

The air is exquisitely cool. Soft breeze rolls in off the water, and there's still purple in the gold of the sky as Mike joins Jessica on the bottom step of the porch, burrowing his feet into the chilly sand. She pulls a joint from the case and he extends a silent hand for the zippo, cupping his fingers around the flame it for her. 

He’s one hit in and floating when there’s a sound from behind them - Harvey, coffee in hand, barefoot in boxer briefs and a worn sweatshirt, soft and tousled, and Mike almost dies right there at the sight of it. Harvey settles himself on the step between them and Mike passes the joint over then watches in fascination as that expressive mouth pinches around the tiny spool of cardboard serving as a filter. After an impressively long inhale, he hands the joint back to Jessica, but Mike’s still watching - as Harvey purses his lips and exhales a billow out over the sand - aching with craving, his mouth on that mouth, that smoke on his tongue.

“Well,” Jessica murmurs. “Belle does have a way of bringing people together.” 

Harvey snorts. “Christ. I’ll say.” He nudges Mike’s shoulder with his own, then passes the joint down. “I’m glad you’re here, kid.”

“Me, too,” Mike whispers.

Jessica holds up her coffee cup. “To family.”

Harvey nods. “Family.”

Mike does not cry, but the breeze might’ve kicked up some sand.

\--

They finish the joint and sit for a while, watching the waves. At some point Jessica leaves to shower and Harvey disappears, squeezing Mike's shoulder as he goes, so Mike’s alone in the kitchen when Trey ambushes him. “Mike! My man! Do you swim?”

“I guess?”

“Perfect. Because Harvey’s going to need a hand.”

“With what? I was just gonna chill on the beach -”

“Yes! You, kid, are going down.”

“I - what?” But Trey is gone. 

An hour later, Mike is cross legged in trunks Donna somehow knew he’d need, on a beach towel he found in the closet, sketching some seagulls picking over the lumpy kelp gathered at the waterline. He’s still pleasantly high, and starting to get the slightest bit hungry, but it’s an easy distraction when Jeanine joins him on a towel of her own. 

“Hey newbie. Nice drawing.”

“Thanks.”

“Trey recruit you?”

“Is that what that was?” 

She grins maniacally. Mike thinks he loves her a little. 

“Jesus christ you’re pale. You want some sunscreen?”

“Probably not a bad idea.”

She tosses him a bottle from her bag and he takes his time applying because the weed makes the glide of lotion over his skin feels like heaven. When he’s finished carefully and thoroughly covering every inch he can reach from the tops of his feet to the tips of his ears he says, “Hey, would you get my back?”

“Sure thing. Hop up.”

She doesn’t get nearly enough sunscreen out on the first try, so she’s barely swiped over his shoulders when a voice says, “I see someone’s got their hands all over my associate.”

“If he’s just your associate, I’m not sure why it matters,” Jeanine replies, and Mike shields his eyes with a hand to look up. 

Harvey’s standing there in navy swim trunks, absolutely at long-legged ease half naked in the sand, but he’s frowning at Jeannie, who snorts and tosses him the bottle. He catches it without ever taking his eyes off Mike. “Turn around.” 

It's probably the pot that has him hyper aware - he can smell the soap on Harvey’s body, and when strong fingers swipe over his spine a hiss startles out.

“You ok, kid?” Harvey murmurs, and Mike nods, but doesn’t do anything stupid like trust his mouth.

Thumbs press parallel lines down either side of his spine, slipping downward. There’s an excruciating pause, and Harvey’s when hands return, he finishes rubbing sunscreen across Mike’s lower back, fingers dipping just below the band of his trunks, and Mike lets out a shaky breath.

He’s being an idiot, he knows. Painfully sensual as this may feel, Harvey's either being extra nice or a shameless tease, and either way, it does Mike no favors to be losing it over his boss fucking giving him a hand in preventing skin cancer. It takes a few seconds, but Mike thinks he’s composed enough to speak, and he turns around with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Th-thanks.”

Harvey’s eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth. He nods curtly at Mike’s gratitude, before tossing the bottle to the towel and joining Jeannie without a word. 

Mike shivers in the sun.

“What’d you get her?” Jeanine is asking Harvey as Mike settles back down.

“She said she didn’t want gifts.”

“Uh-huh. So what’d you get her?”

He grins. “Plane tickets and a month in Paris.”

“She’ll love that. I got her a meeting with Zac Posen. I figured he could design that dress she’s always raving about.”

“Very nice,” Harvey nods. 

Mike cracks his neck and stares out at the waves. It feels wrong not to have anything for Belle, especially as a guest in her home, but he doesn’t know her all that well, and it’s not like he can treat her the way Harvey and Jeanine can with all that money. A record maybe? A meal? He thinks about the house, the home she’s built.

Aside from records and interior decorating, the most dominant display of her values are the photos everywhere - the people she loves. The lives that have intersected with her own.

“Hey, Harvey.”

“Mm?”

“You said you worked with Belle at the beginning. What did you mean? Beginning of what?”

“She’d opened the club less than a year before I met her. Jeannie and Jack and I were her first real employees.”

“And Lauren,” Jeanine adds softly.

Harvey sighs. “And Lauren.”

“When’s she getting here?” Mike asks. 

“Lauren? She’s not.”

“Too far away?”

He nods. “You could say that.”

Jeanine squeezes Harvey's arm where she thinks Mike can't see it, and the mental note is filed away. 

From the porch, Trey makes a horrifying noise and the three of them turn to stare. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“Chickens, Mikey!”

“Oh my god,” Harvey mutters. 

As Trey gallops down the beach, he says, “Let me tell you a tale.”

Jeanine grins. “Here it goes.”

“A long time ago.”

“In a galaxy far, far away?” 

“Nope. This very beach. One Harvey Specter was dumb enough to make me a wager over a game of chicken, and he’s been refusing me a rematch for over a decade.” 

Mike blinks. “So he beat you.”

“That’s not the point!” Trey shrieks, but Harvey’s grinning, so Mike shrugs.

“Ok, Trey. We can kick your ass again.” 

He’s expecting more raving, but instead both Jeanine and Trey turn wide eyes to Harvey. “He is your boy,” she says.

Mike blushes. Harvey’s spine seems to straighten a bit. Trey claps his hands and takes off toward the ocean, tagging Harvey on the shoulder as he passes. “Race ya!”

Harvey scrambles to his feet, sprinting fast enough that by the time he dives into the waves, Trey is only a second or so behind. Mike grins. “He doesn’t learn, does he?”

Jeanine shrugs as they amble behind. “I think he likes the game. When you’re playing with Harvey, it’s worth it, even when you know you’ll lose.”

“Tell me about it,” Mike murmurs, sloshing into the waves, then he takes a breath and dives under. Every muscle in his body tenses then sighs as the chill of the water fades. Pressure. Calm. The shush of water around his ears. 

Safe here, with Harvey. 

There’s a tap at his ankle, and Mike surfaces with a gasp.

“Come on.” 

They follow Trey southeast. The sandbar isn’t all that shallow, but the chest deep waves will be perfect for their game, and as Jeanine swims up with an easy backstroke Mike feels a pang of apprehension. Jeannie and Trey are together, used to each other, as illustrated by the way Trey yanks her up out of the water and into his arms, both of them giggling hysterically. Mike and Harvey aren’t together. Harvey doesn’t touch Mike. Hardly ever. Not like that. Except…

Harvey’s grinning at the spectacle, fond and aching like Mike’s never seen before, and paired with the shine of water on his biceps he’s dangerously irresistible, so Mike does what he needs to. “Are we gonna fight, or are you two gonna make out the whole time? ‘Cause I have plenty of -”

“Oh shut it, city boy. We’re coming.”

“Hop up, kid.”

Harvey dips into the sea, Mike scrambles onto his shoulders, and before he has any time to think about it, he's being hoisted out of the water and into the warm air. 

Sun sparkles bright across the waves. Harvey wraps long fingers around Mike's thighs, just above the knee. 

Mike can't help it - joy and nerves and absolute disbelief burst out of him as laughter, and Harvey follows suit, shoulders shaking beneath Mike’s legs. 

They win, best two out of three, because of course they do. Trey challenges them to a rematch next time.

Mike wonders if, after this weekend, he’ll ever see any of them again. 

\--

“I can’t believe the great Harvey Specter takes naps.”

Harvey stretches, panther-like, and in the middle of a yawn grumbles, “I’m not as young as I used to be.” Mike blinks, surprised at the vulnerability until Harvey adds, “Plus, it’s a lot of work being this awesome.”

“You’re an idiot.” The hazy sleepiness of weed worn off had them both falling asleep side by side with barely a thought, but he’s sure as hell thinking now, about the lines of the body stretched out beside him, sinuous and glorious and not his to touch. The sky is darkening outside their window wall, blanketing them both in gentle shadow. 

“You nervous?” 

Mike emerges from the deep ache of losing something he never had to realize Harvey’s been blinking sleepily in his direction for a few silent minutes now. “Nervous?”

“The club.”

“Oh. No.”

“You’ve got experience in that arena.” It’s not a question, but there’s a flavor of surprise to the words.

“And I trust you.”

“Jesus, Mike,” Harvey mutters, and he rolls over and onto his feet in the thick carpet. The short hand of the clock on the bedside table is creeping up on seven. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Come on, we should get ready.”

Harvey showers first, and Mike digs through Donna’s purchases. Light blue button up. Black jeans. White sneakers. It’s not what he’d normally wear, but it’ll look good. Maybe Harvey’ll make an exception. Maybe he’ll want Mike, if only for an evening. 

The shower shuts off. Mike grabs his pile of clothes, and just as he gets to the door, it opens. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harvey arches a brow in response. 

“You - Ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?” 

And Mike, who must’ve had an aneurysm to do anything this stupid, reaches up and swipes worshipful fingertips through the drips beneath Harvey’s collarbone, then down his sternum before realizing he’s manhandling his boss in a towel, a breath away from a hard on, and about to be late. 

“Sorry,” he stammers, and darts around Harvey to slam the bathroom door shut.

He doesn’t jack off in the shower. There’s no way he’d get through it without shouting. 

“Ready?” Mike manages, blushing furiously as he emerges a few minutes later, and Harvey turns from the broad windows, moonlight spilling off the silver grey of his pressed shirt, and the silence is too much, thunder as a heartbeat, lightning at the ends of his synapses, then a muscle in Harvey’s jaw twitches. “Let’s go.” 

In the surge of adrenaline, Mike finds himself standing alone, listening to the tap of Harvey’s footsteps down the stairs.

“Rookie!”

Here goes nothing. 

\--

They listen to something sea breeze sentimental on the way, music that makes Mike’s heart hurt, and he finds himself pressing fingers against his own chest, whether to keep something in or summon it out he’s not sure until Harvey frowns a hint of concern and brushes his knuckles across the back of Mike’s hand and all that tension sighs out of him into the night. It seems to relax Harvey, too, as they pull to a stop.

“Oh. My. God.” Mike says.

“What.”

“It’s a post office!”

“Used to be,” Harvey nods, cracking the door and stepping out onto the curb. “We gutted it. It’s much less... formal now.”

“Look at you, beautiful,” Harvey grins as Jessica steps out of some painfully sexy iteration of a Tesla. “You have a date?”

“Jealous?”

“Incredibly. Why don’t you walk away so I can catch an eyeful for the -”

Shockingly fast in stilettos she’s around the car to grab him by the jaw. “Finish that sentence and see how it goes.”

Eyes sparkling, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and murmurs, “Apologies. Mistress.”

She lets him go with a little slap. “Better.” After a quick glance at Mike she adds more quietly, “Don’t do anything stupid tonight.”

The comment cuts the grin from Harvey’s face and Mike feels it in his lungs. “Of course. I won’t -”

“Idiot,” she snips then leans in. Whatever she whispers makes Harvey blush. Mike didn’t even know his boss’s face could do that.

“I don’t think -”

“I know you don’t. I’m still right. Have a good night, boys.”

And then she’s gone with a flutter of backless black silk, into the door marked discreetly - “Mail Room.”

\--

There’s a sort of main stage on which a woman is being edged so mercilessly that Mike would feel bad for her if he didn’t have a very good idea of just exactly how wonderful she’s feeling, and then the room sinks in. Long, low couches. A broad granite bar. Entire walls of burnished bronze - old PO boxes, Mike realizes, glowing in the low light. 

He does a slow turn. Harvey’s watching him, warily. 

“This is amazing,” Mike breathes.

The other man’s posture loosens at that, but only slightly. “Main stage,” he gestures. “Bar. A few private rooms, and public play spaces as well. You’re welcome to watch, but don’t touch anyone who’s not yours. No drinking if you’re playing, safeword in colors.”

Some people are dressed in leather or lace or just about nothing at all, but others slouch casually in jeans on the couches, talking or drinking - one table is even playing cards. There are a few subs seated in their masters laps, straddling or perching, charming and doe eyed, waiting for orders. The jealousy almost chokes him, but it’s a wave, and it subsides.

“What’s the id system?”

“I know you look sixteen but the bartenders won’t -”

“No, I mean to indicate my...preferences.”

“You’re playing.” There’s no inflection.

“Hey, you dragged me on vacation. I’m going to enjoy myself.” He makes one last desperate reach, begging, “You got a problem with that? 

Harvey acts like he's a hard ass, but Mike's known the truth for years now. His face is a glorious book, details read and stored and revisited, like that little jaw tic that keeps happening. Maybe Harvey thinks Mike doesn't notice the way his voice softens when he's serious. Maybe Harvey doesn't know it himself.

“Of course not. Come on.”

Mike follows him through the club, trying not to breathe him in, trying not to remember the feel of those hands on his skin this morning, wrapped around his thighs, what they would feel like wrapped around his neck instead.

They backtrack to a small room Mike assumed was the coat check, but upon closer inspection, the top half the door reveals Jack. “Look at you two!” he cries, hopping up from his perch and stepping out. “You playin’ tonight?”

“No,” Harvey says, as Mike replies, “Yes.” 

In the silence, Jake’s eyebrows ascend. “I see.”

Mike’s glad one of them does. 

“Dom or sub?” he finally asks. 

“You really asking that?”

Harvey barely stifles a snort.

“Claimed or no?”

“Hmm?”

Jake turns away, retrieving two pairs of leather straps with little buckles from hooks behind the door and holds out the thinner of the two sets.“If a Dom has claimed you, you wear this one. And if you’re a free agent, the thicker one lets people know you’re available.”

“Oh,” Mike says tiredly. “I guess unclaimed, then.”

“You sure?” 

It’s all wrong. Or maybe it’s just Mike who’s wrong. Maybe Harvey’s soft looks and the talk of family was just … what? Friendship? A game? None of it sits right, gathering instead in the pit of his stomach like shards of glass. He takes the strap in a hand he can’t quite feel. He doesn’t want someone else.

Harvey’s standing unnervingly still, hands in pockets, face blank, heartbreakingly untouchable, and lovely just the same. Pain creeps in as panic over Mike’s shoulders, and he whispers to Jack, “Could you...help me? With the buckle?” 

Jack’s frowning in Harvey’s direction. “Sure thing, kid.” His fingers are cold.

_Please, please, please, please-_

Harvey’s voice cuts into the storm in his head. “Stop.”

Mike freezes, obeying so instantaneously his hand remains outstretched. Jack appears not to have heard.

“I said, stop!” 

“Why? You don’t want him.” Jack’s voice is icy, like he’s furious on Mike’s behalf. 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Harvey growls. People are starting to stare. 

“Prove it.”

Harvey snakes a thin band from Jack’s hand so forcefully it cracks through the air. He looks like he might kill the guy, but then his gaze falls to Mike instead and the emotion there shifts considerably, and Mike knows over a thousand books in four languages, but he’s got no idea what to read here. 

“What are you doing?”

Harvey grits his teeth and takes Mike’s hand, looping the leather around his wrist. “Claiming what’s mine.” 

Someone, somewhere, says, “Finally,” but neither Mike nor Harvey hears because white noise rushes into Mike’s head like sliding under water and Harvey is carefully avoiding his eyes. 

Harvey Specter doesn’t get scared. Doesn’t feel pain or fear, nothing other than jovial carelessness and impatient rage. But Mike should know better. He heard the crack in his boss’s voice as he shouted, “People don’t leave me!”, the hunch in his shoulders when Scottie left, saw the ache in his face when he came to Mike’s apartment after Gram died. Here, in the softness of this gentle post office dungeon, Harvey is unsure. This bravery matters so much more than the rest. 

So Mike is brave too. Fastens the twin to his own cuff around Harvey’s wrist, then presses a kiss to those knuckles sprinkled with scars, and watches as all the armor slide off his Dom’s shoulders to shatter on the ground.

“Mike,” he breathes, so serious and awed that Mike has to ask, “Color?”

Harvey smirks, relieved in a raw sort of way. “Green. You?”

“Green. God. Please.” The last word is a whisper.

“Please what?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. You decide what happens to me.” 

The master of control is looking a little wild. Mike grins cheekily, and gets an open palm tapped to the side of his face, then Harvey takes Mike’s face in hand. “Kind of bossy for a sub.”

“I’m not “a sub.” I’m Mike.”

Something dangerously close to gratitude sweeps Harvey’s face as he says, “That you are,” then he leans in, kissing Mike with teeth and tongue and absolutely no room for argument. 

Mike whimpers and leans into all of it, the bruising fingers on his jaw, the faint citrus on Harvey’s lips, the feeling of leaving his body and sliding into it all at once, and it’s not until Harvey says, “Sssh,” against his mouth that he even notices all the noise he’s making.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He sweeps a thumb over Mikes lips. “You want to play?” 

Mike nods desperately, then asks, “What do you want?”

“Everything,” slips past Harvey’s mouth so slyly the man ends up biting his lip to stop anything else besides, “Come on.”

Mike follows on wobbly legs to one of the rooms cut into the wall. It’s three sided, open to the space, but tucked back and dimly lit. Harvey stops, turns, and faces him. They stand, tall men in an expensive room, eye to eye. It’s a different kind of challenge. 

Harvey orders “Kneel,” clear and commanding and so perfectly right Mike’s down, hands crossed over his lower back before he realizes he’s in public, vulnerable, and blindly following orders. Which isn’t so different from their normal dynamic now that he’s thinking of it. 

“Good.” He crouches in front of Mike, tilting his chin with gentle fingers. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“I’m going to test out some crops and canes on you. I might tie you up. But there will be no sexual contact of any kind here.”

Mikes heart sinks. He was so looking forward to showing off, to being good, being the best for Harvey, who must notice the shift because he says, “You’re mine. That’s for my eyes only.”

“So… not off the table then?”

“No, kid.” He smiles, soft and disbelieving. “Not off the table.”

“Oh.” He sits back on his ankles with relief. “Good.”

“Wrists in front.”

Mike offers them up, delicate blue veins beneath the skin, contrasting with the black of the rope. Harvey checks the tightness with a finger, then raises his hand to undo the top buttons of Mike’s shirt. “Jesus, you’re pretty. Do you have any idea how distracting you are?”

The grin is obnoxious, but Mike shrugs demurely, praying that Harvey’ll tell him anyway.

“Don’t move.” He rises and pulls a flogger from a hook on the wall, twirling the weight, muscles shifting wonderfully in his forearms as he does. “If I had a dollar for every time I had to walk out of the damn bullpen just to put some distance between us, I’d have enough to buy you a solid gold collar. What’s that face?”

“You’d get me a collar?”

Strips of leather trail over his neck, shoulders, back. “Do you want one?”

“Of course.” He’s too eager, but Harvey smiles. “Maybe not gold.”

“True.” The flogger thumps against his right shoulder blade. “Something soft. Leather, maybe. Something I could buckle a little tighter if you needed.”

Mike whimpers. 

“Mm. Pretty noises, too. Hold still.”

He starts in with the flogger, slow at first, and light against the fabric of Mike’s shirt. It’s soothing and rhythmic and time starts to glide over Mike’s skin, around his neck, measured in seconds Harvey gives and takes as the sweet impact turns to a tougher, numbing sting. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Floating.” He sounds so calm, even in his own head. 

From so far away, Harvey says, “You look different.” 

“How?”

“I don’t know. You’re shoulders maybe. Relaxed.”

“Feel better than I have in years.”

“What changed?” 

“You.”

There’s a skip in the rhythm of the flogger and then it bites back in, sharper than before. Mike hisses. 

“I make you feel good or I kept you from feeling good?”

“Both.”

“How?”

“You told me not to smoke anymore.”

“Mike.” Harvey sounds disappointed but Mike’s far enough away that it doesn’t hurt yet. “There are other ways to feel good.”

“I know. I run. Watch movies. Read. But I’m afraid to drink and I couldn’t even walk into a club without feeling you missing from a place I’d never had you to begin with. And then nothing felt like anything for awhile.”

Harvey makes a noise that might be the word “Fuck” or maybe it’s wordless pain, so Mike says, “It wasn’t so bad. I like being with you. On a hard case, or a long day, or a good win - you look at me like you see me.”

“I always see you. That’s the problem.”

“I’m a problem?”

“No! But wanting someone who doesn’t want you back isn’t a great look.”

Mike can’t believe his ears. “Neither is being an idiot.”

The sharper sting and the words through Harvey’s teeth say, “Watch your mouth.”

“Make me.”

The steady leather rhythm keeping his heart going ceases. 

For a moment Mike thinks he’s in trouble, then Harvey walks back from the wall and lifts Mike’s head with the end of the crop he’d retrieved. “How much do you like pain?”

“Very much,” he says too quickly.

“Are you going to let me take care of you after?”

This one takes longer. “I … yes. If you want to.”

“I’ll take you apart kid, but only if you let me put you back together.” 

The sentiment burns behind his eyes and at the base of his ribs. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and he’s waiting for the catch, but it becomes impossible to worry about it as the crop cracks across his shoulders. 

Someone murmurs, “Oh holy shit.”

Mike says, “Please.” 

“Please what?”

“My sh-shirt. I know you said - but I wanna feel it, wanna show off, want everyone to see your marks on me-“ 

“Stand up.”

He almost falls, staggering awkwardly on numb legs but Harvey grasps him tight by the forearms and Mike exerts all his focus on being good, good, Please -

With a tug, Harvey unties the knot at his wrists and the rope falls away leaving pink lines in their wake which he runs his lips over, smiling against them as Mike’s eyes flutter closed. 

The kid reaches up to help unbutton his shirt, but Harvey bats his hand away. “If I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”

“No you won’t. You’ll sulk about it til I ask you what you need.”

“You are absolutely-“

“Right? I know.”

“Take off your shirt then, smartass, and turn around.”

He obeys, but slowly, moving through honey, the room glowing rainbows at the edge of unfocused eyes. When he turns, someone watching from the main room, says, “Come here. You have to see this.”

The shirt falls to the floor. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

Heat shoots out in a cleansing line across his back, and Mike gasps, not at the pain, but at the silence in his head that follows. This is it. 

“Color?” Harvey asks after a few lashes.

“Green,” Mike groans. 

“Arms and legs spread.”

Mike obeys, opening himself up to whatever Harvey has to offer. 

“I’m going to answer some questions. You are going to keep your voice down, like a good boy. I won’t have any shouting in front of guests.”

“Is that just for you, too?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Yes, sir.”

The crop hits Mike’s thigh next and he imagines the line like thin burgundy ribbon blooming on his skin. 

“Who was your first Dom?”

Even miles away, Mike swallows hard. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

“Trevor.”

“Convenience.”

“Was he good to you?”

Mike has to breathe for a moment because the caning hasn’t stopped, blows falling unpredictably, but he’s good, the best, and he’s not about to scream. Not yet. 

“He wasn’t bad. Very...utilitarian. You’re better.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” His voice is lighter, though. 

“You have. In every way.”

“How long have you wanted me?”

“Who says I want you?” Mike teases. 

Three strikes fall side by side and Mike barely catches the wail. It comes out a whimper instead and then he answers, “The first time I saw you.”

“Bullshit.” 

“You’re stunning.”

“I know. And you know that’s not what I meant by want.”

“Fine. Three minutes after the first time I saw you. You called me hotshot.”

“You’re insane.”

The cane doubles back over a tender spot and Mike cries out. “Ah! Sorry. Sorry sir.”

“You’re forgiven. One freebie.”

It’s not his place, but in the low shine of the room, in this suspended reality of endorphins and hope, he can’t not ask. “When did you know?”

Harvey doesn’t answer for just long enough to make Mike nervous, then he stalks slowly in front, giving light raps to both Mike’s shoulders before saying, “You came into my office. I mean, of course, that first meeting - I wouldn’t have hired you if there weren’t _something_ , but it was later, that pro bono. You stayed up all night. Fired off some dangerous finger guns.

Mike laughs, struggling to keep it soft and even. 

“I was being an idiot.”

“You were disconcertingly adorable.”

“Disconcerting, huh?”

“You leaned over my desk and I had to move away. I was afraid I’d kiss you if you got any closer.”

“I was hoping you would.”

Harvey’s eyes are shining. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Patience is not my strong suit.”

“I’m aware. We’ll work on it.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Mike,” he breathes, then leans in, wrapping his arms gently around Mike’s back, kissing him until the kid relaxes. 

“Better?”

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Subspace. You wanna come out?” 

“No!

“Good. Hold still.” 

He’s paused long enough for Mike’s back to really start burning, but then he picks the flogger back up and trails it lightly across the tingling skin. Mike gasps. 

“What’s your favorite thing to have done to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Harvey pauses to twist the flogger, then it snaps out, only once. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not! I’ve never...this is different - Me and you.” 

All the movement stops. Mike looks up at Harvey, and Harvey regards him with the focused sincerity. Neither of them notice the wall of people watching the delicate exchange of vulnerability. They don’t see Jack with his hand over his mouth, or Jeanine and Trey glancing knowingly at one another, or Jessica with her soft smile, because everyone disperses into the crowd as Harvey says, “I think it’s time we go home.”

\--

“Bend over,” Harvey says. “Look pretty for me.” 

Mike’s naked, and he leans over the bed, legs apart, back arched.

“Beautiful. You like showing off?

“Of course.” 

“Open up.”

Mike spreads his cheeks. Harvey cracks a palm across one.

The rest of the family is still at the club, so Mike feels no shame in shouting. He shouts again when he feels Harvey’s mouth on his skin, licking and biting his way up Mike’s spine. “You smell like heaven.”

“Harvey - ” he pants. Another smack. 

“Make all the noise you want. Do you know, I used to sit in depositions and imagine bending you over the conference table - seeing if your skin was as soft as it looked.”

“I used to imagine sliding underneath that table to distract you on conference calls.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Tempting.” He levies out another series of blows, then commands, “Get on the bed. On your back. Comfortable. 

It’s not what he was expecting, but Mike shimmies up, stretching against the pillows before looking down the bed at Harvey. 

He’s left his slacks on, but everything else is laid across the dresser. His hair is messed up. Mike’s hands drift down his body of their own accord.

“Ah, ah, ah, no touching without permission.”

“Come on.”

“Beg all you want, kid.”

“Please, Harvey. Please?”

The use of his name focuses him. So slowly Mike starts to think he’s dreaming, Harvey crawls up the bed on all fours, stopping when they’re face to face. “Please what?” 

“Kiss me,” Mike murmurs, mindless. “Please kiss me.”

Achingly slowly, he leans in, lips brushing Mike’s. It’s soft and chaste and so agonizingly sexy in it’s simplicity that Mike opens his mouth to try and divert some of the intimacy. Harvey pulls away, smiling. He keeps moving up the bed til he’s straddling Mike’s chest, pinning him down. “How’s your gag reflex?”

Mike licks his lips. “Try me.”

Harvey presses the fingers of one hand as far down Mike’s throat as they’ll go, and there’s a gag or two, but he holds out. “Goddamn.” He switches hands, the currently slick and sloppy one sliding backward to slick up Mike’s cock. 

“Fuck!”

“God, this must be painful,” he says, sliding his fingers around the head of Mike’s hard on. 

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he gasps. 

“So do you.”

“Tease.”

“Why thank you.” He starts to rock a little, and for all his giving Mike shit, it’s obvious that Harvey’s hard. 

“Can I suck you off?”

Harvey ignores him, though his cock is mere inches from Mike’s mouth. “Hands above your head, punk.”

Mike rolls his eyes and flings his hands to the pillows, but then Harvey leans back a little and starts jacking him off in earnest, still straddling his chest. Occasionally, he’ll squeeze one of Mike’s thighs, making use of the sensitivity left by the cane. The lines of Harvey’s body are on evident display, from the cut of his hips to the crinkles at his eyes, watching Mike writhe beneath him. He switches between soft and firm, always slow, and Mike’s going out of his mind. 

“Harvey, god, you feel so good.”

“You look incredible.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“I’m - fuck Harvey I’m so close.”

“Too bad, so sad.”

“I’m gonna come, Harvey. You have to stop or I’m gonna come.”

He grins. “Make me.”

Mike folds himself in half abruptly, sending Harvey tumbling to the bed laughing. The wrestle around a bit, easy and safe and joyful until Mike wriggles back to settle between Harvey’s knees, panting.

It seems an impossibility, this night, this moment, this man. In truth though, Mike kneeling here a Harvey’s feet has been inevitable, from that first meeting. There was always something about them, he realizes, a beauty of movement, of wits and affection, something that looks like power and feels like home, and a wave of fear sweeps Mike’s body, knocking him out of subspace ever so slightly, because if this goes south, there will never be a relationship like it again, not in his life, nor anyone else’s. He’s sure of that.

He deflects, attempting to work his way back into his body. “Can I take off your pants?”

Harvey folds his arms beneath his head, looking fond in a way that makes Mike’s chest hurt. “Alright, kid.”

Mike fumbles, high in subspace and overwhelmed, but Harvey lifts his hips off the bed to help, and doesn’t say anything when Mike takes the underwear as well as the slacks. 

“Holy shit. Look at you. How - Can I put my mouth on you now?” 

“You may.”

Harvey obviously expects Mike to suck his cock, but beautiful as that is, there’s something more important first. He needs to kiss Harvey, real and deep and purposeful. 

So he does. At first Harvey just lays there, the Dom letting his sub do all the work, but after a few seconds his eyes slide closed and he pulls his hands from behind his head so he can hold Mike’s face as they kiss, increasingly desperate. When Mike finally pulls away, he sighs. 

“Christ, Mike.”

“You said I could put my mouth on you.” The sass is less effective with how breathless he sounds, but Harvey doesn’t seem to mind, especially as that mouth closes over his cock. 

Harvey winds his fingers through Mike’s hair. “Smartass.” 

There’s no hurry. Mike wants this to last forever, so he goes as slow as he can bear, all the way down every time until Harvey’s cheeks are red and his breath is coming quick in his throat. “God, kid.” 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He jacks Harvey lazily, surveying his work. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanted to see if this makes you squirm,” and Mike leans down to wiggle his tongue at the back of the head. (It does.) “Wanted to see how long you can last, and how fast I could break you. Wanted to see how you like this,” and he gently presses one slick fingertip against Harvey’s hole. It’s a risk. So many Dom’s take whole volumes of issues with being penetrated, but Harvey just groans way back in his chest and says, “Open me up.”

Mike’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Lube’s right there. Open me up.”

“I...are you…”

“Mike. Color.”

“Green.”

“You trust me?”

“To the moon and back.”

Harvey’s face softens. “Then trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you. Which, in turn, is taking care of me. Now put some lube on those pretty fingers and open me up. Don’t be precious about it. I’m not made of glass.”

“Ok,” Mike whispers. So he does. And Harvey, masculine energy radiating from every sinew, lifts his knees and sighs as Mike’s finger slips in to the knuckle. 

“That’s it. God. Fuck. Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Mike watches in awe, feeling the muscle tighten around his finger, marveling at the ease Harvey’s taking it, the first finger, then then second. 

“You ok?”

“I just didn’t know that you -” 

“Topping from bottom is a thing.”

“I know.”

“No you don’t. But you will. Put on a condom.”

Mike’s done asking questions.

This is actually going to kill him, he decides, because he’s already so hard it hurts, and the thought of keeping some semblance of cool while fucking the most glorious man in the known universe is overwhelming to say the least. But orders are orders, and he’d do anything for Harvey. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m not gonna -”

“You’re perfect, Mike. Breathe. God yeah, that’s it.”

He bottoms out, and Harvey chuckles, albeit with strain round his throat. “You gonna make it, kid?”

“You’re so tight.”

“Don’t let people fuck me often.”

“Often?”

“Jealous?” 

“Yes.”

Harvey looks only slightly surprised by this. “Not in years. Not since before you.”

“Good,” Mike says, like he has any say in it whatsoever, and rocks his hips a little.

“Good,” Harvey echoes. “Now move.”

“Fuck.”

“Slowly.”

Harvey watches him, reclined back against the pillows, and Mike might’ve been put off the casualness of his posture, but the flush down Harvey’s chest and the precum smearing against his stomach give the game away. He still in absolute control and Mike shudders at the fire in those dark eyes, for him. 

Harvey reaches out a hand, and smacks it firmly across a lattice of red lines left along Mike’s thigh by the cane. 

He cries out. 

“Very pretty. You like fucking me, Mike?”

“The fuck do you think?” he gasps.

Harvey slaps his other thigh, harder this time. “I think you’re a mouthy sub.”

“You wanna hear mouthy?” 

Danger glimmers in Harvey’s eyes, deliciously, chili pepper in chocolate, and Mike’s too strung out to notice. “By all means.”

“You’re a goddamn tease.” Mike’s head lolls back a bit, trying to focus on pacing his movement through the pleasure. 

Harvey murmurs, “Because I won’t let you come?”

“Because you roll up your goddamn sleeves.”

“Come again?”

“That’s require me coming in the first place.”

Harvey rakes nails down Mike’s thighs and the kid wails. 

“Explain.”

“You roll up your sleeves. Or loosen your tie. Or - god - a button undone, or the worst is when I come over and you’re in a tee shirt… No one should look that good in a tee shirt. Not unless I can put my mouth on you.”

“You can.” 

“I can,” Mike breathes, focusing dazedly back to the man in front of him. “I can.” And he slumps over, catching himself an inch from Harvey’s mouth. This time, Harvey surges up.

To be buried in Harvey’s body and kissing him, is all encompassing in a way Mike has never experienced before. The completeness and complexity of sensation sweeps him right back to the edge of orgasm and he groans. “Harvey, I’m -”

“No you don’t. Not a chance. Keep fucking me.”

Mike slams his hips into Harvey and for once, they both cry out. Good boy that he is, Mike keeps up the command, fucking into Harvey, body growing increasingly tense, breath increasingly shallow. He leans over, holding himself up on one hand, eyes rolling back in his head, and then Harvey shoots out a hand and wraps in firmly around Mike’s neck. 

“Harder.”

Mike feels himself turn to jelly at the sensation, making it doubly difficult to keep moving. Everything is hazy and light but his skin is on fire and Harvey’s watching him like something holy and Mike’s face is wet. 

“That’s it.” His voice is rough now. “Keep going. 

“Harvey - ”

“I’m right here. I’m with you, beautiful boy.”

Mike chokes on a sob. 

Harvey loosens his hold on Mike’s neck and catches the noise in his mouth, then pulls away to whisper ferociously, “Now.”

Mike always knows what he means. And he comes, buried deep inside the body of the man who saved him. 

—

Somewhere, someone’s moving over him, a cool rag on his skin, lotion over his welts. A kiss, reverent against his temple. “Sweet dreams, kid.”

Mike dreams in oil pastel of dancing and gifts, unspoken rules, and a woman whose name feels like a punch in the gut.

**Author's Note:**

> libidinous, adj.
> 
> I never understood why anyone would have sex on the floor. Until I was with you and I realized: you don't realize you're on the floor.”  
> ― David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary
> 
>  
> 
> Come visit me at seasless.tumblr.com  
> <3


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